Wooed by promises of superhuman virility and riches beyond my wildest imaginings, I finally broke down, liquidating my IRA, and selling my favorite gerbil Winston in order to purchase some Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl. oz. I could barely contain my tremors of excitement as I wired the Western Union money order. I must admit that over the ensuing days, my anxiety became nearly unbearable - sleep escaped me, and I could not concentrate at work. However, as the estimated delivery date approached, a strange calm overtook me. The realization that I would soon be bathing in the glory that is Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl. oz. made the pettiness of life's minutiae fade away. I could no longer hear the prattling of my withered wife - she of the sagging breasts and endless headaches - and I smiled furtively at the knowledge that I would soon be free of her.

Days later, unable to restrain myself further, I marched into my supervisor's office, oblivious to his protestations, undid my belt, and proceeded to defecate all over his TPS reports. The look of horror on his face imbued me with emotions that few will ever know. Feeling triumphant, I strode past the rows of employees, who, slaves to their own fear stood gaping, and slapped the office secretary on my way out the door. When I arrived home, I informed my inadequate spouse that I had found a new mistress, and she would need to remove herself from my presence by the end of the week - the date of course coinciding with the arrival of the much-anticipated elixir. As I relaxed in the kitchen, my feet lightly resting on the table's cool laminate surface, I knew that this had been the best $2,500 I had ever spent.

Finally, the day arrived. The drab UPS employee, somehow immune to the package's awesomeness, blithely handed over the Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl. oz. I raced to the kitchen, suffering a slew of paper cuts in my haste to open the cardboard barrier. The liquid inside appeared slightly discolored - almost grayish in hue, but I quickly dismissed the observation as I could practically feel it's power pulsing through the attractive plastic container. I twisted the cap, unleashing a rush of air from the jug. I stumbled back, as I hadn't experienced an odor so rank since my wedding night. These signals would have given any sane man pause, but I was too invested, too hungry for salvation. I pressed the opening to my trembling lips, throwing back my head, and swallowing half of its contents in one go. The reaction was instantaneous.

The insufficiently-viscous mélange caused me to regurgitate harder than one of Hef's girlfriends after inhaling his pubic detritus in a Viagra-fueled crotch-gobbling session. The evil substance shot through my system like a tornado through a trailer park, prompting what I can only politely refer to as fecal urgency. A miasma of blood, pus, and bile began to leak from my eyes, ears, and nose. As I lay prone on the unforgiving linoleum floor, suffering indignities only Jimi Hendrix could understand, my wife passed through the kitchen, suitcase in hand. I knew in an instant that I deserved every ounce of the disgust manifested in her unsightly features. I am sprawled here now, awash in my own bodily fluids - unemployed...abandoned...too weak even to end my own suffering...broken in every way.

The Tuscan Whole Milk thing on Amazon has been going on for years and is one of those gems that you stumble across all the time out in the internet tubes.

I posted about it over a year ago and it was old even then.

Here is a good review:

Once upon a mid-day sunny, while I savored Nuts 'N Honey,With my Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 gal, 128 fl. oz., I sworeAs I went on with my lapping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the icebox door.'Bad condensor, that,' I muttered, 'vibrating the icebox door -Only this, and nothing more.'

By Randall Black (Irvine, CA USA) - See all my reviews(REAL NAME) The author of Tuscan Milk gets right to the point and saves the busy reader time with a crisp, focused narrative. I read it in one night and part of the next day. Not elaborate, the illustrations make the point: cows can fly in New York, although lunar gravity and near-light velocities "curve" space to create strange relativistic bovine warping. Lay readers will appreciate the constrained use of math, but may miss beloved traditional elements: Cat? Fiddle? Dish? Spoon? Stop looking! This is a modern work of milk that doesn't look back. Customers who liked Tuscan might like the edgy, high-tech read on Eagle Brand Condensed or even Carnation Powdered. Buying used is not a recommended option.

If you like that, you must read the reviews of "Three wolves howling at the moon" http://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Three-Short-Sleeve-Black/dp/B000NZW3KC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=apparel&qid=1251073322&sr=8-1

You will notice that besides the fine reviews, people who buy the shirt also like Tuscan Milk. Don't miss the first review of the shirt.